


No Place for Princes

by SparkleMoose



Series: The Taste of Wind [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Another Royal Bastard AU From Yours Truly, Ardyn Isn’t The Cause of Those Last Two Tags For Once, Depression, Galahdian Culture (Final Fantasy XV), Gen, Graphic Description, Healing Magic, Magic, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:34:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22224913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkleMoose/pseuds/SparkleMoose
Summary: Aquilo had survived the burning of his hometown, the death of his brothers father, and Galahd’s submission to Imperial Rule.He isn’t sure he can survive this.(But he does. He survives. A monster drags him out of the dark and back into the light out of the reach of the other monster that held him captive.)
Series: The Taste of Wind [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599790
Comments: 13
Kudos: 145





	No Place for Princes

**Author's Note:**

> HEED THE TAGS. AQUILO SHOULD HAVE DIED LIKE TWICE IN THIS BUT MAGIC. ALSO HE’S SAD AND WANTS TO DIE FOR A BIT IN HERE. BE WARNED.

_“Let no one mistake us for the fruit of violence - but that violence, having passed through the fruit, failed to spoil it.”_

_― Ocean Vuong, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous_

* * *

“Aquilo,” Luche’s voice is warm and steady and so utterly disapproving it makes Aquilo want to laugh, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m not going to!” Aquilo protests his brothers concern, “I’m not Nyx!”

In the background Nyx’s protest that he isn’t reckless goes unnoticed as Aquilo notes how Luche’s eyes narrow.

“Hey,” he says reaching out and placing a hand on his brothers arm, “I’m always going to come back to you. I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Aquilo grins. “Who says I can’t keep it?”

* * *

Aquilo had been stupid. He had been so stupid, stupid and reckless the way his Luche had warned him would get him into trouble one day. Aquilo had been reckless and stupid and a dozen other things usually reserved for yelling at Nyx about taking on a Hunt too dangerous for him.

But this wasn’t a Hunt Aquilo had took. This had been a recovery mission, one of theirs had gone missing and Aquilo couldn’t just let the family grieve without even a piece of their child to remember them by. At Dave’s request Aquilo had tracked down the last whereabouts of the missing Hunter, determined to get the tags back despite the stories surround Taelpar Crag.

I should have listened, Aquilo thinks, clutching the tags of the dead Hunter to his chest as the hulking frame of an armoured man towers over him, I should have listened.

There’s a familiar coiling in his gut, one he has felt far too many times in his life to be unaware of what it means. The magic in his veins is humming, urging him to run as far away as possible.

But Aquilo is young and frozen with fear and in the time it takes for him to make a decision the armoured man strikes and Aquilo falls.

The warmth of blood blooms across the front of his clothing, and Aquilo wonders if this is what it means to die. He can feel the life leaving him, can feel it ebbing away through his fingers and he wonders why he hasn’t already died. He’s been spilt open from shoulder to hip. He should be dead.

He isn’t. Distracted, he barely notices the way emerald light blossoms from the wound, magic stitching the skin back together. What he does notice is that the monster of a man pauses and Aquilo drops the tags he came for and runs.

In a twist of fate that would have him laughing were his life not in danger the dead rise from the ground to stop him. And perhaps their mere presence would be enough to terrify some other Lucian, perhaps their screams as they chased after him would be enough to stop someone from Lestallum or Insomnia in their tracks. But Aquilo is Galahdian, and he has never feared the dead.

He fears joining them too soon. He fears disrespecting his ancestors who had survived wars and daemon attacks, sickness and heartbreak. He fears dying before he’s ready and he most certainly isn’t ready.

Aquilo runs and thinks of nothing but getting anyway and getting back to his brother.

He runs into a solid chest, the cold metal of armour presses against his hands that he used to stop his face from slamming into the armoured chest. A gauntlet presses down on his shoulder and Aquilo shudders as it touches him.

This man should be dead, Aquilo realizes with a start, and he doesn’t know how he knows but Aquilo can feel the that something larger than anything he knows binds this man’s spirit to earth.

For a moment he feels pity, but the man’s sharp armoured fingertips dig into his shoulder and all Aquilo can feel is terror.

“This isn’t a place for princelings,” a deep, rasping voice comes from the helmet above him. Aquilo’s heart digs a grave in his stomach at the words, a confirmation of something both he and Luche had suspected but never got confirmation of because the only one who could confirm it was dead.

“I’m not-“ Aquilo’s breath comes out in a fog in front of his face and he wonders when it got so cold.

Death isn’t supposed to be cold he thinks.

“I don’t like liars,” the dead man says, and without another word he hits Aquilo on the head with enough force that Aquilo blacks out.

The last thing he hears is the screeches of the dead.

* * *

Aquilo wakes.

It doesn’t take it long for him to wish he hadn’t. He finds himself on cold rock, staring at the seemingly endless expanse of a cavern that stretches on before him. He blinks, brain fogged over with the veil of fainting and it takes longer than it should for him to remember what had happened.

His muscles tense, the coiling feeling of magic building under his skin burns through him and he’s able to think with a clarity he hadn’t been able to before. Aquilo knows he has to escape, that he has to leave before the dead man finds him again.

He hauls himself to his feet even as his muscles burn from overuse.

“Good,” a voice says and Aquilo freezes, “I would have been disappointed if you died.”

Aquilo turns and comes face to face with a man that should be dead.

“How?” He croaks out, mouth dry and parched.

“Use your words, Little Prince,” the ghost says and Aquilo feels like he’s being mocked but can’t muster up the energy to be mad about it.

“How are you here? You should have passed through Ramuh’s Gates by now.”

The ghost laughs, a loud rattling sound not unlike that of bones.

“Observant,” the dead man says, “That will serve you well here.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“I only answer to gods and kings, and you are neither, Little Prince.” The condescending tone in the ghost’s voice is back and this time Aquilo bristles.

“Stop calling me that,” he demands, “I’m not-“

“-A prince?” The spectre finishes, “Your blood would say otherwise.”

“Blood means nothing.”

“Those Galahdian sentiments are still the same after all these years I see.” The man’s voice is scornful and Aquilo wants to hit him. “Blood is power. Can you not feel the power in your blood? The ability to destroy is one your line has long held. You were made for destruction, nothing more.”

Aquilo swallows around a lump in his throat and swallows down his fury and grief with it. It wouldn’t do to get emotional here but Aquilo cannot deny the other man’s words had struck a chord in him. The day his home had been burned to the ground by imperial forces is still mostly a blur in Aquilo’s mind but-

He remembers the day Galahd itself had finally, after years of resisting Imperial Occupation, was made to submit. He remembers Luche grabbing his hand and both of them running for the docks. He remembers the sound of bombs dropping and people screaming but mostly he remembers how afraid he was, how helpless he felt as they ran past the dead without bothering to stop to pay respect. Aquilo remembers that helpless feeling winding tighter and tighter in his chest until it burst out, burning through his skin and bringing him to his knees.

A burst of emerald energy had shot forth from his chest and he had screamed himself hoarse over Luche’s frantic attempts to get him up and moving. It burned, it felt as though something was hollowing him out and all he could feel was grief and rage at how helpless he was. Sorrow at how his home was being taken from him and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Eventually he stopped burning, stopped having his insides hollowed out and taken from him. Eventually Luche got him to his feet and they started running again.

It was then the Lady of Whorls had risen from the sea and roared. It was then the sky darkened and thundered crashed through the air around them. It was then rain started to fall harsh and pounding against their skin as they ran and water began filling the streets.

A flood, they had all realized at once and Aquilo had watched a man fall to his knees and sob, A storm. And behind the storm clouds Aquilo could make out a towering figure, silent and still as the air moved around him and for once he was unspeakably grateful to their gods.

It may have been too late for their arrival, may have been too late for them to stop Galahd from falling but they were there. They were there and Leviathan roared as she crushed Imperial Airships that dared to come too close to the boats she was guarding, and Ramuh himself had summoned the storm as if to guide those who would doubtlessly die to paradise. For while all where equal in death those who died in storms or rain, by water or lightning, were blessed.

It was a mercy of sorts, to have their gods with them there at the end. To know that they cared enough that even if they couldn’t stop what was to come they could ensure their people were taken care of in the after life. The journey after entering Ramuh’s Gate was long after all, and it would be a blessing to not endure it.

His brother had looked at him strangely then, and it was not long after that they had their first fight. Luche blaming Aquilo for not doing enough when their hometown was invaded and Aquilo full of rage and grief demanding to know what he could have done. He had no control over the burning under his skin and when he tried to heal one of their friends that person wound up dying anyway.

The trip had been silent after that, and Aquilo cannot help but wonder if that issue between them was ever really resolved. Standing in front of this dead man makes him think it wasn’t.

He wishes it was, he wishes he was with Luche, he wishes it didn’t feel like his world was ending. But his wishes have always amounted to nothing in the end, and as he stares at the death mask of a dead man he finds he has nothing to say.

“Have I taken the words from your mouth, Little Prince? I take it you already know that your blood line knows only destruction. That you and yours are merely tools, weapons, for powers beyond your comprehension.”

“Stop,” Aquilo says, “Stop it.” And he can’t forget the image of all the people he’s tried to save but couldn’t. He can’t get rid of their accusing faces staring down at him from beyond.

You could have saved us, they mock and Aquilo is tired of hearing their voices but the words of the dead man in front of him ring true. If he wasn’t made for destruction, if the magic humming in his veins isn’t selfish and terrible then why has it only saved him? Why didn’t it save Luche’s father? Why didn’t it save their uncle or their aunt? Why has every person Aquilo has ever tried to save wind up dead because his magic wasn’t enough?

“You will pay for the sins of your line,” the dead man declares suddenly after taking in how Aquilo had faltered, “If I cannot have the head of the man who wronged me then I will have yours.”

“Get on with it then,” Aquilo says, closing his eyes, “I’m Galahdian, I do not fear death.”

The spectre moves and Aquilo chokes on his own blood.

He still doesn’t die, his knees give up and he chokes on his own blood, trying and failing to cough it out while clutching his bleeding throat and failing.

This is torture, he thinks as he feels the skin beneath his fingers knit itself back together, this is hell.

He coughs up blood onto the ground until his throat is sore and he feels heavy with exhaustion.

“Interesting,” the dead man says, “It would seem that the Sage has an heir in you.”

Aquilo is too tired to try and think of why the man sounds so amused. His arms, lacking the strength to hold him up anymore give out and falls on his side.

The last thing he sees before everything fades is a pair of armoured boots.

* * *

It’s hell, Aquilo thinks, living this way. It’s hell. The dead man-Gilgamesh as Aquilo had learned- had dragged him deeper into the caves after he had collapsed. They were now what was in what looked like a small arena with a pathetic garden growing in a lonely patch of sunlight.

Aquilo has been eating nothing but mushrooms and weeds for weeks now and is amazed he hasn’t died yet. Each day he becomes more exhausted though, each day it’s a struggle to keep his eyes open when Gilgamesh comes and yet somehow he manages it.

Gilgamesh makes sure Aquilo doesn’t stay idle for long, he beats Aquilo black and blue when he demands to spar with the Galahdian. He takes his time in criticizing every move that Aquilo makes during those spars and when he’s done-

When he’s done Gilgamesh introduces magic. Aquilo doesn’t know how the ghost has magic, doesn’t care to think about why. All he knows is that Gilgamesh demands that Aquilo use his own magic to defend against his attacks during those times and not listening to the Blademaster makes everything worse.

Aquilo tries, he does, and he learns through trial and error and paying close attention to how the energy in and around Gilgamesh shifts during certain attacks how to bend fire and ice and lightning to his will. It always leaves him exhausted and sweating afterwards and whenever he thinks it’s done Gilgamesh proves him wrong with another attack.

Eventually Aquilo learns that nothing is ever finished, that he always has to be on guard. Eventually, he stops planning his escape as his body grows weaker even as his magic grows stronger.

Eventually, his clothes hang loose on his frame and it’s then Gilgamesh decides to take the one thing Aquilo has left. Aquilo lets Gilgamesh pin him to the ground, he lets the Blademaster cut his hair and take his beads.

He watches as Gilgamesh throws them to the ground in front of him and destroys them. Aquilo wants to sob, wants to shake and cry and rage but he is so, so, tired.

He just wants to sleep.

And not wake up.

* * *

He misses Luche, even in his dreams. He misses Tredd and Nyx and Libertus and what a weird group the three of them had made. He misses spending nights with them in Libertus’ and Nyx’s shitty apartment in Lestallum and making fun of each other and the whatever shitty movie they watched that night. He misses his brother and he misses his friends.

Mostly he misses feeling alive. He’s been in haze for a long while now, there is nothing but mist and fog around him. There is no sound of rain or roaring waves. The wind is silent there.

And Aquilo is alone.

He doesn’t know how long he fades in that place, but one day a voice, deep and smooth as silk breaks through.

“-I might be a monster, Gilgamesh,” the voice says, threatening and furious and Aquilo almost feels sorry for Gilgamesh, “But even I know better than to take my grudges out on those who do not deserve it.”

“You would trample anything that came in the way of your goal,” Gilgamesh says, “And you dare to think I’m the monstrous one.”

Fire licks the surface of Aquilo’s skin and he can’t move anyway from it. It’s warm and inviting and destructive just as he is. Do they not belong together? Does fire not feed fire? There is something underneath the rage of this fire, something that feels like deep buried guilt and shame and Aquilo wonders why fire would even bother with such notions but he’s too tired to think of it.

“You’re not dying,” the voice, smooth as silk commands and suddenly Aquilo himself is on fire, his magic under his skin singing loud. The clanging noise like church bells ringing through his mind.

His eyes fly open, brilliant green eyes unseeing for a moment before they take in the sky above them, storm dark and threatening. A sob wrenches itself out of Aquilo’s throat as he realizes exactly what he’s seeing, that he’s being carried outside of the caverns he had been trapped in for years and the grip around him tightens at the noise he makes.

“You don’t get to die until I say so,” the voice tells him and Aquilo’s head rolls to the side to be met with a piercing golden gaze, “Gilgamesh had overstepped his boundaries, he had no right to keep you.”

Didn’t he? Aquilo thinks, Shouldn’t a monster keep a monster?

His tongue is too heavy to form the words so he fades back into unconsciousness.

When he wakes again the sky is clear, blue clouds floating over head and once again Aquilo’s eyes fill with tears.

“None of that,” the man with the golden gaze says as Aquilo raises a hand to wipe the tears from his eyes, “Crying isn’t good for anything.” For the first time in what seems like forever Aquilo moves into a sitting position and stares at the golden eyed man as he sits next to the fire.

“Who-“ Aquilo is somehow able to speak, to form words and he only vaguely wonders why his mouth isn’t dry as as stone. “Who are you?”

The mans lips quirk into a smile, fake and amused at the same time.

“I thought,” the man drawled, “That he would have told you the story of the Sage. It seems I was mistaken.”

“He told me nothing,” Aquilo says and watches a certain type of darkness well up in the other man’s eyes.

“Yes.” It feels as though the man is sitting on a thousand year old rage that will never be quenched. “I supposed he wouldn’t. Gilgamesh was never one for talk.”

Aquilo blinks at him. “You know him.” It isn’t a question.

The man laughs. “Of course I do,” his voice bitter as he speaks and it sends shivers down Aquilo’s spine, “He used to be my Shield after all.”

Alarm bells go off in Aquilo’s head but he’s too tired and weak to respond to them. “Are you here to kill me then?”

“No,” the man says after a moment, “I just saved you, after all, it would be a waste to let you die now.”

“Can I die?”

“Yes,” the man says, “But it would be very hard to kill one such as you.”

“I figured.”

“Your name?” The man asks, and Aquilo wonders if he should tell him.

He does anyway.

“Aquilo.”

“Aquilo Lucis Caelum,” the man muses, “Not the worst name.”

“Aquilo Lazarus,” Aquilo corrects the other man, and hates how he knows exactly why the man barks a laugh, “It’s not funny.”

“I dare say it is,” the man replies, “A man who can’t die named for one who rose from the grave. Romantic.”

“You just told me I can die.”

“Yes,” the man says, “But more often than not you will fall then rise again having wish you were killed.”

“You sound like you speak from experience.”

The man’s smirk is brittle.

“Perhaps I do.”

* * *

The man, Ardyn fucking Izunia, is a Lucis Caelum.

The Chancellor of Niflheim is a Lucis Caelum.

Aquilo stares at him and wonders if it’s alright to hate the man who saved you from your own personal demon.

Ardyn looks amused as he watches conflicting emotions dance over Aquilo’s face.

“Jackass,” Aquilo finally says to him as they sit across from each other in a Crow’s Nest Diner.

“Not the worst thing I’ve been called.”

“I can think of worse things to call you.”

Ardyn fakes a wounded look. “Is that any way to treat the man who’s nursed you back to solid food?”

“It’s the way to treat the man who did nothing as my country burned.”

Ardyn tsk’s. “Such loyalty to a country that doesn’t care for you.”

“I wasn’t speaking of Lucis,” Aquilo snaps and the table falls silent just as the waitress returns with their orders.

“Do you hate me,” Ardyn asks.

“No,” Aquilo replies around a mouthful of burger just to watch Ardyn frown.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Talking with food in your mouth. It’s disgusting.” Aquilo knows it is. He also knows that Ardyn is a jackass who hates it. So he keeps doing it throughout the meal just to piss him off further.

* * *

Aquilo doesn’t sleep. Not anymore at least, he knows that it’s not healthy to stay awake so long but thanks to his gift of healing magic, passed on from his grandfather to him, he doesn’t really need to anyway.

He had tried before but always woke screaming.

He hasn’t tried since he had almost plunged a dagger into Ardyn’s chest when the man tried to wake up him.

* * *

Aquilo is still far from healthy when Ardyn leaves him to his own devices. His hands still tremble at times and he’s still far too thin but he no longer looks like a walking corpse so Ardyn counts that as a win.

“I didn’t go through all that work just so you could die,” Ardyn informs Aquilo before he leaves.

Aquilo stares at him, searching for something in Ardyn’s eyes before shrugging.

“You have no say in that matter.” Ardyn opens his mouth to bitch but Aquilo continues. “Thank you Ardyn, for staying with me, for saving me.”

Ardyn pauses and hates how his heart feels tight and warm at the words.

“We are still enemies,” he informs the small Lucis Caelum.

“I know,” Aquilo says, “But I’m still grateful.”

* * *

Normally Cid doesn’t pay attention to the Hunters that come into Old Lestallum when he’s there. Hunters come and go after all, and this isn’t his Outpost so it’s not his job to keep track of them.

He pays attention to this one. Pays attention to the kid that stumbles in with a sword that looks better than it’s wielder does. The kid is almost in rags, it looks like, his clothing hanging off of him and making him look frighteningly small. Despite that, the Hunter glares at the tipster when they hesitate to give him a hunt until they give in and Cid stares.

Because those eyes are a sharp green, the color of verdant grass and Cid knows those eyes, has only seen them placed delicately on the face of one other.

Reggie, Cid thinks as the kid, swirls on his feet and marches out of the door, The fuck did you get into?

* * *

Cid waits for the kid, and when the kid comes trekking back with the horn of a Leukorn in his hands Cid waits for the kid to collect the bounty from a startled tipster before Cid ambushes the kid as he exits the Crow’s Nest.

“Hey,” Cid says, “Ya look like ya need some help.” The kid eyes him, suspicious and it’s then Cid notes the sharp lines of the kids cheeks, how even within baggy clothes he looks too small and for a moment Cid sees Regis the night the Prince had learned his mother died. Regis had come to him, a bruise blooming on his cheeks and Cid had resisted every urge in him that told him to go and commit regicide as he gathered Regis in his arms and reassured the Prince it would be alright.

The kid is small, all sharp bones and thin skin and Cid carefully notes how the scar running down the side of the kids face looks like it had been put there deliberately.

“I need someone to help around my Outpost, ya in?”

The kids eyes sharpen further and Cid gets the feeling he’s being analyzed.

“Why do you ask?” The kid’s accent is Galahdian and Cid’s stomach plummets when he takes note of the lack of beads anywhere on the kid.

“You took down the Leukorn’s didn’t ya? Could use someone like that to make sure newbies don’t get themselves killed?”

“But why?” The kid pushes for an answer. “Why me? You could chose anyone. Why me.”

Cid snorts. “Because you look like shit, kid. Because I’m offering a room where you get to rest without reaching for your weapon every ten minutes. Beside’s Taka’s a good cook, he’ll feed you good.”

“All that for a stranger?”

“All that for a friend’s kid,” Cid says, and the kid freezes which means that he knows but Cid is willing to bet any money that Regis doesn’t. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on telling Reggie unless you want me to.”

The kid pauses, weighing his options. The risks and the lack of risk.

“Fine,” the kid says, “I’ll come with you.”

“Good, now come with me, we gotta get you a shower and some new clothes.”

The kids nose scrunches in an adorable way. “I don’t need charity.”

“It’s not charity, it’s me taking care of my employees. Now come on. The name is Cid by the way, what am I to call you?”

“I’m Aquilo” the kid says, “Aquilo Lazarus.”

* * *

Aquilo isn’t quite sure how he got here.

Here being in a tow truck with his fathers friend. Here being taken to Hammerhead because the promises of a warm bed where he could relax and hot meals were too much for Aquilo to resist.

Alright, so maybe Aquilo does know how he got there. But if he’s honest with himself, it’s not only the promise of food and warmth that made Aquilo accept Cid’s offer, it’s also the fact that by helping Cid and staying in one place he’ll be able to keep his ear to the ground for whispers of his brother and their friends.

He doesn’t know if they would still want him, after everything that’s happened. He doesn’t know if they would welcome him back after being so stupid but-

He misses them. He misses their light and warmth and he needs to know that they are still alive at least. He doesn’t know what he would do if he was the only one left.

* * *

Cid regrets. He doesn’t regret bringing Reggie’s bastard to Hammerhead, nor does he regret the fact that he promised not to tell Reggie about the kid. What he regrets is the fact that no one found him sooner. That no one took notice of him and went he needs help. Because when Cid looks at Aquilo, Aquilo who is always on guard despite how he acts like nothing is wrong, Aquilo who flinches at loud noises and who’s hand’s flicker with magic for the briefest moment before it fades when someone startles him, Aquilo who Cid is certain had something terrible happen to him Cid can’t help but be reminded of Regis.

Regis was never so open with his reactions, but Cid can still remember how whenever someone moved too quickly the air around Regis’ hands would simmer for a second before it faded

Cid is angry and regretful and he wants to find whoever did this to Aquilo and murder them.

But he can’t, because Aquilo won’t speak of it and all Cid had managed to get from asking around was that Aquilo went missing three years ago and everyone thought he was dead. He gathers that Aquilo has a half-brother but Cid has no way to contact him so he can’t go and interrogate Luche.

He takes notice, however, of how there is always a scarf around Aquilo’s neck and Cid knows that the other man is hiding something. He’s proven right when Cindy tugs at it and it slips off Aquilo’s neck.

Aquilo’s eyes widen.

Cid’s eyes are drawn to the scar tissue that wraps itself around Aquilo’s neck and he takes a deep breath to remind himself that he cannot fall apart in front of Aquilo or Cindy. Cindy’s eyes are wide and uncertain. She is scared, Cid knows, and that’s why he calls her over to help him with something that he could have done on his own.

Cindy hands back the scarf and Aquilo hastily puts it back on. His eyes half wild and Cid’s heart breaks further.

* * *

Aquilo misses his brother. He knows that how Cid eyes him, as though Aquilo is a poor, pathetic man without a family and where he would have been angry about that before now he can’t help but think that Cid is right. His mother’s family is dead, the half-brother he had been raised alongside with is missing from his life and all Aquilo can think is that he’s sorry he broke his promise to Luche.

He raises a hand to touch the scar tissue on his neck and wonders why he’s still alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway, this should have been edited but its 5:15 in the morning and i haven’t slept so its not being edited.
> 
> :/


End file.
